The Opera Ghostess
by ICRepresentative
Summary: What would happen if the Phantom of the Opera was a woman, and she was fighting for the love of her dark and twisted life... a boy named Christian Daae?
1. The Phantom Is There

**Disclaimer**: Andrew Lloyd Webber owns Phantom Of The Opera and all its music and stuff.

**A/N**: "What would happen if the genders of the main characters of POTO were reversed?" It was an interesting question - one I wanted to answer. I hope it entertains you. While I give all credit to Andrew Lloyd Webber for the songs, I have written some of my own words to the tune of them, and change the lyrics of others to make it fit with the theme of this fanfic. Therefore, the words that are mine are © ICRepresentative. See if you can pick them out.

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"No, no, no, no!" The opera star El Cobalto shook himself free of the people fluttering around him. He brushed them aside like gnats. "'_These things do 'appen_'? For the past three years, these things have been happen! And until these things don't happen, this thing" he pointed to himself, "Don't happen!" He ripped the helmet from his head and threw it to the ground contemptuously. He turned and stormed away, calling for his belongings, his dog, and his muse to follow behind him, and there was nothing anyone could do. His train of yes-men and porters hurried after him, pleading and begging in Spanish. 

Andre, one of the new managers of the Opera Populaire turned to the maestro and tried to make the best of a bad situation. "Well," he forced a smile, "Is he coming back?"

The maestro shrugged helplessly and put the cloth back to his forehead.

"Isn't there an understudy…?"

"Understudy!" The maestro wailed, "Understudy! There is no understudy!"

"Christian Daae could sing the part."

The managers turned to find themselves looking at the calm face of Madame Giry. Her daughter Meg stood nearby. A young boy, wearing the slave-boy costume from the play the opera troupe had been trying to perform, stood just behind her, looking a little bashful.

Firmin, the other manager, raised an eyebrow. "Christian Daae? Not the son of the famous violinist Georgina Daae?"

"The same," Madam Giry said, her face blank, "And her only child."

"But he's a dancer!" Firmin scoffed. "How can he sing?"

"He's had the help of a wonderful tutor."

Andre's interest was peaked. "Really? Who?"

"I don't know her name." The boy admitted shyly.

Andre sighed, but relented. "Very well, come up here. Maestro, from the beginning please." The maestro lifted his baton, and the music started up. The boy, Christian Daae, come to the front of the stage and looked out over the empty seats of the theatre.

"I hope you know, Andre, that this is doing nothing for my nerves." Firmin muttered.

_Think of me, think of me fondly, when we say goodbye…_

The managers exchanged glances. This boy had the voice of an angel. They had their star.

"You did well tonight," Madam Giry said. She handed him a red rose, tied with a black ribbon. "She is pleased."

Christian gently pulled the ribbon through his fingers. "Did you see her tonight?" He asked softly.

But Madam Giry shook her head. "I did not. But you know she always watches you."

Christian set the rose down reverently. "But if she was not watching, who was that in Box 5?"

The dance teacher's mouth set itself in a hard line. "The theatre's new patron. A Countess. The new managers do not respect the Phantom's wishes." She shook her head sadly. "This will not end well."

"I will speak to her," Christian said, trying to bring a smile back to Madam Giry's face. "Perhaps there could be a compromise."

"The Phantom of the Opera does not compromise." Madam Giry said, and left the room quietly.

Christian started taking off the trappings of his costume. Hannibal had been a success - with him as the title role! He smiled. It had been an honour he wasn't expecting.

Something else he really hadn't expected was the fact that Rebecca was here. He had seen the patron, and he had recognised her. They had been childhood sweethearts. She had called him Little Lorrie.

"Little Lorrie spoke of everything and nothing…"

Christian turned and smiled. "Rebecca!" She was here, in his dressing room, singing the song they had sung as children. They sang it again tonight, and together for the first time in years.

"You were magnificent, Christian!" Rebecca said. She looked beautiful - being a Countess meant she could afford the luxuries of a fine dress and jewels. Christian felt like the orphan he was, sitting beside her. But Rebecca obviously cared not for comparisons - she wrapped Christian in a fierce hug. "You sang so well!"

Christian hugged his old sweetheart back, taking in the rose-petal scent of her perfume. Expensive perfume. "Thankyou, Rebecca, but it's all because of the Angel of Music."

"Angel of Music?" She smiled, "I remember her. '_The Angel of Music singing songs in your head_'…" She laughed.

Christian smiled, but did not join in the laughter. "I've missed you."

She smiled, her cheeks dimpling. "I've missed you too." She rose and made for the door. "Come, I've a carriage waiting. We should go to dinner to celebrate your new starring role!"

Christian's smile vanished in an instant. "No, Rebecca, I can't."

"Why not?"

"My teacher wouldn't like it." Christian said, pleadingly, "She's very strict."

Rebecca grinned teasingly. "Then I'll bring you back before your bedtime. Get changed, Little Lorrie - I'll meet you outside in five minutes."

"Rebecca, wait!"

But she was gone. Christian felt the emptiness of the room press down on him. Suddenly, all the candles died at once, as though with a single breath of wind… and Christian knew he wasn't alone…

_Insolent wench! This slave of fashion!  
Basking in your glory!  
Ignorant girl, this scarlet woman  
Sharing in my triumph!_

Christian turned, but there was no-one there he could see. He took a deep breath and sang out,

"_Angel of music, come, sing to me  
I long to hear your sweet song  
Angel of Music, come from the shadows  
You have been hiding too long."_

A woman's voice laughed bitterly.

_Angel of music, is that what you call me?  
When you have a woman already?  
"Angel of Music, she means nothing  
You are the only one for me."_

Christian looked around the room. No-one. No answer. He picked up the red rose again and stoked the petals gently, while looking around the dark room.

"_Angel of Music! Speak, I listen  
Stay by my side, guide me!  
Angel, my soul was weak - forgive me  
Enter at last, Mistress!_

Softly, she sang back.

_Flattering boy, you shall know me  
See why in shadows I hide!  
Look at your face in the mirror  
I am there inside!_

Christian turned and found himself staring at himself in the mirror… but as he watched, the face of the Angel of Music appeared. Christian could barely contain his joy - the woman who had sung to him in dream and in the dead of night, the woman who took the cold edge of his nightmares far from him, the woman who had coached him, taught him to sing, the woman who's voice he adored… she was here! She was here!

"_Angel of Music, guide and guardian!  
Grant to me your glory!  
Angel of Music, hide no longer  
Come to me, strange angel…"_

The woman in the mirror, her face half-hidden by a bone-white mask, held her hand out to him.

_I am your Angel of Music…  
Come to me, Angel of Music…_

And Christian was aware of nothing else as he reached for her hand and let him lead her down into darkness…

"_In sleep she sang to me, in dreams she came...  
That voice which calls to me and speaks my name...  
And do I dream again? For now I find  
The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind_..."

Through dark tunnels, light by golden lamps of light, The Phantom took her student, leading him by the hand through a maze of stone. She would look back at him, to smile at his spell-bound face. Her own face, beautiful, despite the left side being only a mask. She smiled, then sang with light more beautiful than her own face, more beautiful than anything Christian ever could have imagined. He'd heard her sing to him in dreams, and when he was in chapel praying for his mother. But now, his Angel had not only a voice, but a face. And she sang to him…

_Sing with me once again our strange duet  
My power over you grows stronger yet…  
And though you turn from me, to glance behind,  
The Phantom of the Opera is there - inside your mind..._

Christian followed, drawn onwards not only by the gentle pull of her hand, but by the music of her voice.

"_Those who have seen your face  
Draw back in fear  
AndI am the mask you wear…"_

She turned to face him, eyes torn between sadness for herself and love for him.  
_It's me they hear…_

Together, they sang, the words overlapping in chorus.

"_**Your**/my spirit and your/**my** voice, in one combined  
The Phantom of the Opera is there - inside your/**my** mind_..."

Christian felt her squeeze his hand through the soft satin of her glove, and his heart began to soar.

"_When night descends on me, and candles dim  
Your song demans I obey your every whim  
Long have I dreamed of you, longed for your face  
The Phantom of the Opera is here, black silk and lace..."_

"Sing with the Phantom of the Opera…" she whispered, "Sing with the Phantom of the Opera…" Her voice rose and fell in pealing silver notes.

_In all your fantasies  
You always knew  
Angel and mystery…_

Christian crooned in reply,  
_"Were both in you…"_

Together, their voices rose and twined, echoing over the misty lake and in the cold stone tunnels.

"_And in this labyrinth,  
Where night is blind,  
The Phantom of the Opera is there/**here**  
Inside your/**my** mind..."_

Christian sat in the black gondola, the Phantom pushing the boat through the maze of misty waterways with a long silver pole.

_Sing, my Angel of Music_! She commanded, _Sing, my Angel of Music_!

And Christian sang, and rising from the waters rose candelabras, their candles already lit.

_Sing, my Angel of Music_! _Sing, my Angel of Music_!

Through the glassy lake, through the think, heavy mists, the boat slid… and came to a stop. Christian stared in wonder at his angel as she stepped off the boat, slid aside her cape, and stared down at him fondly.

"Welcome, Christian." She purred. She turned and climbed the stairs, her long black dress swishing over the floors. Her eyes never left his face. "You sang wonderfully tonight."

Christian said nothing, only stared in spell-bound wonder at the face and form of his teacher and mistress.

She smiled, the left half of her face frozen behind a mask. "Do you know why I brought you here?"

Dumb-struck, Christian shook his head.

"You are my finest creation," she whispered, coming towards him, her hand outstretched. "Greater than any opera I could have ever written. But without you…" She pulled him to his feet, and drew him towards her, "My music is nothing." She put her lips to his ear and whispered seductively. "Will you be my music, Christian? Will you help me write the music of the night?" She stepped back, watching his face, and led him up the stairs, deeper into her lair.

And Christian followed, pulled by the magic spell of her song and of her beauty.

The managers threw aside the notes they carried in order to put their arms around La Cobalto's shoulders in a familiar, grovelling manner. "Who needs Christian Daae?" They laughed, "He can play the silent role! There is no way we would dare ask our greatest star,El Cobalto, to put on a dress! To hell with what that 'Phantom' says!"

Rebecca looked down at the note she carried. All this confusion, all these notes… and 'Opera Ghost'? What kind of Ghost kidnaps an opera star, only to return him before the next rehearsals start? And what kind of ghost demands an exorbitant salary and a theatre box?

"You,El Cobalto, shall play the king, and Christian shall play the maid!"

"The Phantom of the Opera," Madam Giry whispered, as she turned away, "Will not be pleased." She gripped her note tightly, so tightly that it threatened to tear. The Phantom had threatened a disaster - and she never broke her promises. She never failed to follow through with her threats.

ElCobalto was in rare form - the other actors had never seen him so agreeable. And he was in fine spirits. He played the philandering king with exuberant energy, while Christian played the maid demurely and, as the role demanded, silently.

_The Phantom switched the bottles while no-one was looking. But one man saw - high in the rafters, Joseph saw the black-gloved hand of the Phantom. And for once, the jokester found himself afraid. He was just kidding last night! The Phantom existed in stories! Nothing more!_

The Queen came in, and caught her husband in the act, but the King denied anything, pointing out, instead, a smear of makeup on her face. She gasped, outraged. The crowd roared appreciatively.

"**DID I NOT INSTRUCT THAT BOX NUMBER FIVE BE LEFT EMPTY?"**

The play halted, and people looked about in confusion - was his part of the play? The cast looked to each other in fear - the Opera Ghost! Rebecca, sitting in Box 5, looked around herself with alarm, then looked to the managers for an explanation. There was none they could give.

"She's here," Christian said, whispering in awe, "The Phantom of the Opera…"

"You are to be silent,"El Cobalto snapped, "You little toad." He smiled apologetically out at the audience.

"Toad?" The Phantom whispered, looking down from her perch near the chandelier, "No, sir, it is you who is the toad." With a sweep of her black cloak, she was gone.

"Bah!"El Cobalto stomped backstage, "Get me this, get me this." Someone brought forward the spray-bottle and squirted the liquid into the star's open mouth. "Hey, hey, hey! Why you squirt on my chin all the time, eh?" Again, two more sprays. El Cobalto tested his voice, found it fine, then stomped back on stage to resume his role.

_Joseph crept along the walkway above the crowd, looking for the Phantom. She couldn't be real… she couldn't be! He found the doorway, and slipped inside_

But asEl Cobalto's voice rose in song, it broke, and sounded exactly like the croak of a toad. The cast, crew and audience, burst into laughter.El Cobalto tried harder to make his voice normal again, but to no avail. Everyone was in stitches… bar Christian, who was looking around for the Phantom; and Rebecca, who was watching Christian curiously.

_Joseph peered around in the darkness. Well, wherever the Phantom went, she was gone now. No sign of her… He turned, and found himself staring at the white half-face of the Opera Ghost. He cried out in fear, and dashed away along the platforms above the stage. The Phantom followed close behind._

The curtain swung closed, separating the view of the mess backstage from the audience. One of the actors was caught onstage. He panicked.

"Get off, get OFF!" The maestro hissed. The actor hid just out of view as the managers came onstage to try and settle everyone down.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Firmin cleared his throat, "Pease forgive us for these inconveniences. If you will be so kind, we will start the play once more, this time with…" He reached backstage and grabbed Christian, and dragged him onstage, "Christian Daae playing the King!"

The crowd cheered their new favourite. After what they had seen from his performance last night, there was no doubt he would be a wonderful actor. A young lady in the back cheered loudly.

_Joseph turned, but could see no sign of the succubus he'd seen before. But there! She was on the platform opposite him. Joseph tried to run one way - she ran that way too. The other way? She followed him. Joseph panicked, and ran. The Phantom grabbed hold of one of the ropes and shimmied up into the darkness._

"Meanwhile," Andre continued, "We shall be performing the ballet from Act 3…"

The maestro hissed in alarm and hurried to co-ordinate his orchestra.

"The ballet! The _ballet_!" Andre tried to hurry him up.

The music started up, and the curtain opened. Cast and crew scurried around, shifting props and sets, trying to make the sheep move, trying to dance and get everything organised at the same time…

_Joseph ran, the woman in the black cloak and gown close behind him. Suddenly, he tripped, and fell. The Phantom pounced._

The ballet music picked up. The actor that had been left on stage before danced across, trying to look like he was a part of the act. The maestro glowered at him. "You're fired." He hissed.

_Joseph tried to scream, but he couldn't. _

The girls on stage tried to pick up their dance with the music, many of them seconds out of time. The sheep refused to walk across stage, one of them letting out a loud obnoxious bleat, then falling over.

The audience laughed.

_There was nothing Joseph could do - he couldn't breathe. The face of the Phantom twisted into a triumphant sneer, and her eyes were cold as ice._

The ballerinas spun, twirled, but the stage was chaos. It couldn't get any worse…

A body fell from the rafters, kicking and spasming, a noose around his neck. Madam Giry's daughter screamed, and soon many people joined in.

The managers rose from their seats and screamed at the audience that it was only an accident. Rebecca rose from her seat and stared in horror. Christian lifted his face, and saw his Angel in the rafters, holding a rope. She saw him, smiled, and let go.

Joseph's body hit the floor with a sickening thud.

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to be continued. 

Please r&r.


	2. Muted Celebration

**Disclaimer**: Andrew Lloyd Webber's version.

**A/N**: Thanks to the people who liked the first chapter, as well as the idea behind this story. But to everyone else… NO DIFFERENT SURPRISE ENDING FOR YOU!

Hahah lol, jk. I'm still going to make it end differently. It was what I was planning from the beginning.

* * *

"We're not safe here!" 

Christian ran through the chaos of the backstage, followed closely by the new patron, his childhood sweetheart. They ran through the mess of panicked actors and stagehands, climbing ever higher, as though the Phantom was a flood that the pair could escape simply by climbing to higher ground.

"Christian!" Rebecca called, "Christian, _why have you brought me here?"_

"_We can't go back there_," Christian panted, his eyes wide.

"_We must return."_

"_She'll kill you!"_ Christian turned back, panicked, _"Her eyes will find us there…"_

"_Christian, don't say that…"_

"_Those eyes that burn!" _

"_Don't even think it!"_

The boy bit his lip, casting his eyes around in the darkness as though searching for the white half-mask that once dwelt in his dreams… the face which now haunted a waking nightmare. _"If she has to kill a thousand men..."_

"_Forget this waking nightmare!"_

"_The Phantom of the Opera will kill…"_

"_The Phantom is a fable, believe me!"_

"_And kill again!"_

"_There is no Phantom of the Opera!"_

Christian pulled open the doors and plunged out into the night air. It was cold, and snow was falling lightly over the landscape. Down below, the audience scrambled for their carriages, determined to get away from the Opera at all cost. Rebecca stumbled out onto the opera roof after Christian. The boy was shaking, and it wasn't from the cold.

"Christian," Rebecca went towards him, "What's gotten into you? What happened?"

The young singer turned to her, his eyes filled with fear. "She killed him. And she…" Christian shook his head, trying to shake the memory from his mind, "She will kill again. She'll kill you, Rebecca!" Christian leant heavily against one of the Pegusus statues that adorned the roof. "The Phantom of the Opera…" He looked down - in his hands he held a rose. A blood-red rose tied with a black silk ribbon.

"There's no such thing!" Rebecca said softly, trying to console him.

"No?" Christian looked at her, with eyes so full of fear they made the countess pull back. "If she does not exist, then whose voice was it that demanded box number five?" He took a shuddering breath.

"_Bec, I've been there  
To her world of unending night  
To a world where the daylight dissolves into darkness  
Darkness…_"

Christian turned, grabbing Rebecca by the shoulders, pleading with her to believe him.

"_Bec, I've seen her  
Can I ever forget that sight  
Can I ever escape from that face, so distorted, deformed,  
It was hardly a face in the darkness…  
Darkness…"_

He sighed, then cast his mind back, remembering his Angel's face the night she took him to the seat of music's sweet throne.

"_Yet in her eyes, all the sadness of the world  
Those pleading eyes that both frighten and adore_…"

His eyes gazed into memory… her face, her voice, her form…

Rebecca saw the blood on his hands where the rose's thorns had pierced him. She shook her head, "Christian, she is just a woman. But she has you under some sort of spell."

Christian shook his head. "No, Rebecca, no spell. Just her music. Her voice, and her… her beauty." He sighed again. "She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Rebecca watched her childhood sweetheart for a moment, her conflicting thoughts playing plainly on her face. Christian, sensing he offended her, lowered his head. But Rebecca put a hand to the side of Christian's face, trying to calm him. "Christian… Oh, Christian…"

On the wind came the soft mocking echoes of the Phantom's voice, still as warm and seductive as it had been. _Christian_… Christian cast his eyes about once more, but it was just the wind… and his memories. Nothing more. For a moment, Christian thought he smelt the dark musk perfume the Phantom wore… but like the voice, it was just an illusion.

Rebecca's gentle glove hand turned Christian's face towards her, and slowly, she pulled him towards her. She embraced him, gently, hesitantly, but with all the force of one who has kept her love hidden for so long.

"_No more talk of darkness,  
Forget these wide-eyed fears -  
I'm here. Nothing can harm you;  
My words will warm and calm you."_

She stroked the side of his face, her eyes softening as she soothed his fears.

"_Let me be your freedom,  
Let daylight dry your tears -  
I'm here, with you, beside you,  
To guard you and to guide you…"_

Christian stared at Rebecca for a moment, then lifted his own hand, to caress the side of her face.

"_Say you'll share with me  
One love, one lifetime,  
Say the word and I will follow you…"_

Rebecca smiled at him, and suddenly, both of them were crying, both of them wiping away each others' tears.

"_Share each day with me, each night, each morning…"  
"Anywhere you go let me go too…"_

Rebecca's eyes and Christian's eyes locked… and suddenly the cold and the snow no longer mattered. Thoughts of the Phantom were far from their mind. All that mattered was each other. Christian let the rose fall from his hand as he held Rebecca in his arms.

"_Love me… that's all I ask of you…"_

And then they kissed. If kisses were music, this kiss was a full orchestra piece, the score loud and triumphant, heralding the arrival of two lovers as they began their journey together. This was a clashing of cymbals, the cheering of violins, the applause of the brass and woodwinds.

Christian looked down into Rebecca's eyes. Rebecca looked deep into his. And they kissed again.

Eventually, the cold brought the lovers back to earth. Christian shivered apologetically. "We should go. They'll wonder where I am." He smiled and led her by the hand. "Come with me, Bec."

"Christian, I love you." She followed, her eyes staring deep into his. They kissed again.

Christian, seized by the moment, grinned, and suggested a plan. Rebecca's eyes glinted, and she too grinned, sharing his enthusiasm. They laughed and sang about their future together as they climbed back down into the opera house together. Holding hands.

The snow outside continued to fall. From behind one of the statues, a shadow disengaged itself and crunched slowly across the roof. A gloved hand reached down and picked up the rose that Christian had dropped - no, thrown aside. The blood had been washed from the rose's thorns and stained the snow red.

The Phantom raised the red blossom to her face and pressed it against her lips, as though it were Christian himself.

"_I gave you my music…  
Made your song take wing  
And now, how you've repaid me  
Denied me and betrayed me…"_

The Phantom breathed in the scent of the rose, as though trying to breathe in one last memory of Christian. What was visible of her face was torn in anguish, and tears welled up in her eyes. She remembered the way the countess had smiled, how she'd held him… how she'd kissed him.

"_She was bound to love you  
When she heard you sing  
Christian…" _

The Phantom fell forward, the rose held to her lips, and began to sob brokenly. The snow continued to fall, uncaring of the grief-stricken figure on the Opera House roof.

And then, echoing though the halls of the Opera House came two voices, singing together. The Phantom's tears dried up as she lifted her head to listen.

It was Rebecca and Christian singing their sweet duet.

"_Say you love me  
Every waking moment,  
Turn my head with talk of summertime…"_

The Phantom's grief turned slowly to rage. The hand which had so gently caressed the rose before now crushed it in a vice-like grip. Scarlet petals fell slowly with the snow. As the notes of the lovers' song continued, the Phantom's mouth twisted in a snarl.

"_Say you need me  
With you, now and always…"_

With a scream, the Phantom threw what remained of the rose aside and ran from the rooftop. She clambered up on top of one of the statues and screamed her vengeance at the night sky. The breeze lifted her cry and let it echo across the square.

"YOU'LL CURSE THE DAY YOU DID NOT DO  
ALL THAT THE PHANTOM ASKED OF YOU!"

With a final keening wail, the Phantom leapt off the building and was whisked away into darkness.

It had been three months. Three months of peace, and quiet… and no Opera Ghost! Three months, and a brand new year was beginning. The managers Firmin and Andre were hosting a masquerade ball at the Opera Populaire, all the all the rich and famous were going to be there.

Rebecca and Christian entered the ball, dressed to the nines and beaming with a secret joy. Christian had finally scraped up enough money - and courage - and had asked Rebecca to marry him. She had accepted - they had been engaged for little under a month. She wore a thin gold band on a chain around her neck now. Christian looked at it, a little ashamed. When he could afford better, he would by her a diamond ring, a ring the woman he loved truly deserved.

Rebecca caught him staring at the ring. She hugged his arm. "You look nervous Christian. Is everything alright?"

Christian forced himself to smile for her. "Of course." He winced mockingly. "It's just… well, I don't think you should wear that ring so obviously."

"Why?" Rebecca asked, batting her eyelashes at him teasingly. "Scared that it's going to look like I'm the one who gave you your promotion?"

Both of them had heard the rumours. That Christian had only been given the lead roles because of the mysterious Opera Ghost… who was, according to gossip, the Countess herself. Favours for favours, wagged the tongues. But it was all hearsay and rumours.

The Opera Ghost… Christian stared off into the distance and thought of his angel just briefly. He wondered where she had gone… He wondered if he'd ever hear her voice again…

"Come on, darling," Rebecca tugged at his arm, smiling, "Let's dance."

Christian smiled, eager to turn his thoughts away from the past. After all, the New Year would soon begin, and it was a time to look forward to bright new things. He took Rebecca in his arms and twirled her around. They danced together for a while, then both Christian and Rebecca were pulled apart and danced with other partners. They saw snatches of each other's faces through the crowd, but they knew, that by the last dance, they would be together again.

Masks flashed past in gold and black and white. Faces and half-faces, snatches of familiarity amongst the strange and unknown. _There_, there was El Cobalto and his newest wife, Piratta (There were rumours she was nothing more than a gypsy girl, but as far asEl Cobalto was concerned, she was a queen). The two managers and their girlfriends for the evening. Patrons of the arts. Madam Giry and her daughter in matching oriental outfits. It was a wild array of colour and glitter and sound.

And suddenly, in the middle of it all, stepped a figure dressed in the colour of blood.

The music and gaiety of the ball died as the Phantom stepped down in the revellers midst. Under a half-mask, the woman's scarlet lips parted in a mocking grin. It was no coincidence that her masquerade mask was that of a skull.

Christian froze, feeling the blood drain from his face at the sight of the Phantom.

"Why so silent, good monsieurs?" she greeted the managers, who were frozen in fear on the steps she was descending. "Did you think I had left you for good?" She paced down the steps like a hunting wildcat - she took each step deliberately, her blood-red gown swishing with each step.

"Have you missed me? Well, I have returned!" She laughed, spreading her arms to the roomful of guests. "Am I not allowed to enjoy a New Years Masquerade with the rest of you?" She sighed, then turned back to Firmin and Andre. She had a leather-bound manuscript in her hand; she threw it contemptuously at them. "I wrote you an opera, good monsieurs." She looked down at them. "Do not disappoint me again." She started to turn away, then looked back, and with a devastating smile, asked, "Do you believe in me now, monsieurs?"

Judging from the fear on their faces, they did. And so did the rest of the crowd.

Christian felt himself drawn to the woman in red, like a compass-point to the North. She had returned. His Angel had come back to him! … Rebecca! Where on Earth was Rebecca? He turned, scanned the crowd with his eyes, but every face was fixed on the Phantom. Rebecca was lost to him.

"Did you wonder where I was all this time?" She asked, her voice soft and cold. "Well?" When no-one answered, the Phantom's eyes narrowed to slits behind the mask as she surveyed the crowd.

"_For three months I have been trying to make up my mind  
For three months I have been weighing up my heart…"_

She stepped down into the crowd, who parted around her, fearfully. She strode purposefully, deliberately… towards Christian. Christian swallowed, stared. The Phantom's gown displayed her bosom to good effect. Pale skin and blood-red gown… Christian swallowed again as the Phantom stood directly in front of him.

"Christian," she purred, smiling. "Oh, Christian, I've missed you so very, very much…"

"I missed you too," Christian found himself saying. "Where were you?"

The Phantom's smile vanished. "Writing the opera… for you." She whirled back to face the managers, who were trying to creep away. "Christian will have the lead role, gentlemen._ This_ time. Won't he?"

Firmin and Andre managed weak nods. With a predatory smile, the Phantom turned back to Christian…

And found herself staring into the hostile face of the Countess Rebecca. The tension in the air almost crackled.

"Move, girl." The Phantom said, voice on the verge of a snarl. "I will not ask you again."

"He does not belong to you," Rebecca hissed in reply. "Christian belongs to no-one!"

The Phantom's eyes grew flinty. "Really?"

The countess stood her ground. "Leave him, murderer. He is free now."

Suddenly, the Phantom caught sight of the ring Rebecca was wearing. She stared, horrified, then turned to Christian, pleading. "Tell me that is not your ring she wears."

Christian stared between the two women. Rebecca stood her ground and glowered up at the Phantom, while the Phantom, his Angel of Music, looked to him, tears in her eyes, begging that it wasn't so.

"I am engaged to Rebecca," he said mechanically, not wanting to betray his feelings.

The Phantom gave a shriek and drew back her hand. Christian flinched, but it was Rebecca that felt the blow. She fell to her knees and cried out as she hit the floor. The crowd drew back even further.

"NO!" Christian leapt forward, and knelt back down the Rebecca's side to hold her in his arms. She was fine - the Phantom's slap had not drawn blood.

"I made you!" The Phantom screamed at Christian. "You're NOTHING without ME!"

"No!" Christian said, angered, "I'm a prisoner! You keep me here to sing to you, like a bird in a cage!"

The Phantom shook her head, suddenly afraid and repentant, rocking back on her heels. "Christian, no," she whispered, pleading, "I did it for you. All for you. Everything. The operas… the music… me… "

"You're a murderer! You're a monster!" Christian shouted, then stopped short, suddenly realising what he had said. But it was too late to call the words back.

The Phantom's heart was broken.

"Monster?" She cried. "Monster?" With a broken cry, she turned on her heels and fled, sobbing.

"Angel, wait!" Christian called out. But the weight of Rebecca in her arms, and the smell of the roses, topped him from rising to his feet. "Forgive me!"

"Let her go," Rebecca said softly, rising to her feet. "She's a madwoman." She pulled at Christian. "We should go."

Christian watched as the Phantom pushed her way through the crowd, no longer self-assured, but panicky and close to tears. He'd seen her face in the darkness, with the music of the night. And he still loved her. But he knew her weakness.

"And never come back!" Rebecca shouted, in defiance.

Those were the words that stopped the Phantom in her tracks. She turned, slowly, a terrible light shining in her eyes.

"Never?" She said, her voice icy. "Never come back?" She laughed, the laugh of a madman, and turned her eyes to Christian.

"_I gave your voice wings  
Taught you to soar  
I gave you everything  
And so much more!"_

"Leave him alone!"

The Phantom glowered down at Christian, as though it were he, not Rebecca, who had spoken. "Leave you, Christian? Leave you?" She laughed again. "I can never leave you, Christian. I'm am in you, Christian. I am part of you! I will never leave you!" Her shout echoed in the room, again and again.

Rebecca stared, open-mouthed, at the woman whom Christian had adored for so many years. A madwoman! Insane! Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Madam Giry look aside. The only face that did not stare at the Phantom.

"Your chains are still mine," The Phantom smiled a frightening smile at Christian. "You belong to me…" Suddenly, there was a rush of flame. The crowd screamed, and pulled back. Christian turned his back to the flames to shield Rebecca. When they both turned back, the woman in red was gone. All that was left was the stink of fear.

The bells began to toll midnight. But no-one felt like celebrating.

**

* * *

A/N:** Male phantom equals heartbroken misunderstood genuis. Female phantom equals crazed psychopathic stalker. Really? Well, wait and see. 


	3. Worse To Come

**Disclaimer**: This version of POTO belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber.

* * *

"You know her, don't you!" 

Madam Giry shook her head, but there was fear in her eyes. "I know nothing, Countess! The Phantom has haunted this theatre since…"

"She's no ghost; she's a living, breathing human being," Rebecca said, standing over her, hands on hips. "You know where she came from, don't you?"

"I know _nothing_!" Madam Giry said, almost in a hiss. "All I know is that when Christian arrived, he had a guardian watching over him everywhere he went."

"A guardian angel," Rebecca said, almost bitterly, "Who now appears to be a tormenting demon."

Meg Giry sat in the corner, her head bowed over a handful of string she was weaving into a cat's cradle. She seemed to be ignoring the conversation between Rebecca and her mother, but her face was white as a shroud.

"Where did she come from?" Rebecca asked, throwing up her hands. "You know something, Madam Giry, even if you don't want to admit it." She looked the dance teacher dead in the eye. "If you don't help me, Madam, Christian's life could be in grave danger."

"No more so than you own," Madam Giry shrugged. "I wish I could help you, mademoiselle, but I cannot. I know little about where…"

"So you do know something!" Rebecca said, pouncing on the woman's slip of the tongue. "Tell me everything. And I mean _everything_, madam."

Madam Giry's lips tightened. "I only know rumours and hearsay. But if it will help you, then I will speak." She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "About ten years ago, there was a travelling circus passing through Paris. Gypsies. The Opera troupe went down to see them. Including Meg here."

Madam Giry's daughter jumped at the mention of her name, but did not look up from her cat's cradle.

"I alone did not go." Madam Giry fixed the countess with a steely gaze. "But I later heard that there was a murder. One of the gypsies was killed by one of the exhibits, who escaped soon after."

"Exhibits?" Rebecca stared in horror.

Madam Giry nodded. "Yes. The Devil's Child. Or, as I believe she is now known…"

"The Phantom of the Opera." Rebecca finished, a chill creeping down her spine.

Madam Giry nodded. "However, mademoiselle," she added, "That is what I believe happened. However, I have no proof of this."

"I do."

Rebecca and Madam Giry turned to face Meg. The slender ballerina bit her lip and kept her eyes down.

"Meg?" Rebecca frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"When I was younger… She was in a cage," Meg whispered. "A girl wearing a bag over her head. He hit her… then took off the mask." Meg's hands trembled. "She was crying, and her face was all torn. She looked at me, and I had to look away."

Madam Giry stared in horror at her daughter.

"I stayed behind when everyone had left. She took a rope…" Meg choked on her words. "She got out of the cage, and looked at me. She was crying. She'd just killed a man to free herself, and she was crying. I couldn't just leave her…"

"You brought her into the Opera House?" Madam Giry gaped at her daughter. "Meg, do you realise what you have done!"

Meg looked up from her cat's cradle; her hands were shaking. "If it were one of the dancers in that cage, Mama, would you have left her in there? If it were me, would you just walk away?" Madam Giry closed her mouth. Meg continued, "I saved her life, and I hid her from the people who hurt her. I didn't know… I didn't know she was so bitter." Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. "I was young then. Too young. I did what any child would do for another child who was locked in a cage. I saved her life. I set her free."

"And she made the Opera House her home." Rebecca looked at Meg. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

She shrugged, a bitter smile twisting her lips. "Who'd believe me? And even if someone did believe me… what good would that do _her_?" Meg sighed. "She may look a monster, but she's a genius. All the operas we perform, the music we sing and dance to, the designs of the costumes and sets… they're all her works. She's a genius."

"But she has turned into a tormented madwoman." Madam Giry sighed. She looked suddenly much older, as though Meg's announcement had burdened her more than she could bear. "So she was the girl you talked about."

Meg nodded. "The girl you thought was my invisible friend." Meg untangled her hands and put the string aside. "Mama, I'm sorry…"

"No, don't be," Madam Giry sighed again. "You did what was right at the time. Now we must deal with the consequences." Her eyes were hooded. "We must exorcise this ghost before any more harm comes to those we know and love."

Rebecca's hands clenched and unclenched. _Christian_… "What should we do?"

"There's nothing we can do," Madam Giry said, putting a hand on Rebecca's arm to calm her. "For now." She took a breath. "The only thing we can do is prepare. She wrote this new opera, no? We must act as though nothing has happened. We must act as though we mean not to stop her. We don't want to arouse the Phantom's suspicion too soon."

Rebecca's eyes narrowed. "Until we strike."

Meg, who had her head buried in her hands, looked up. "I'm going to talk to her. I have to." The ballet dancer took a breath. "If I could find out what she intends… what her designs for the opera house and Christian are… well, forewarned is forearmed." Her eyes were steel, but there was pity in them. Pity for her friend who had become a monster. "We must put an end to her reign of terror."

Madam Giry's face twisted. She didn't want to put her daughter in danger, but there seemed to be no other choice. She turned to face the countess. "Find Christian. If we are to put a stop to the Phantom, then we must have his help." She sighed. "Though, I fear, this will not end well."

But the two girls were already gone, too intent on their plan to heed the warnings of the one woman who had lived through the worst. And expected to see much worse come their way.

* * *

Christian stared at the single flickering candle, his entire focus on that single nervous flame. His face was blank, unreadable. That was how Rebecca found him; staring into nothingness, seeing beyond the candle. 

"Christian," the countess whispered, "I must speak to you."

"About the Phantom?" Christian's voice was bitter. Rebecca frowned. Christian did not sound like himself.

"Yes," She said, cautiously, "About the Phantom."

"What about her?" Christian said, his eyes dead. "How to get to her lair? How to find her? Her weaknesses, her fears?" He turned to face Rebecca. "How much I loved her? What? What do you want to talk about?"

Rebecca frowned. "Christian, what's gotten into you?"

Christian turned back to the candle, and buried his head in his hands. "Nothing's gotten into me, Rebecca. It's just always been there. Lurking under the surface, like some creature of the deep. Waiting…" Christian composed himself. "It's like… she's in my blood. No, more than that. My mind. My soul. She's right; I cannot escape her. She is in me; she is part of me. She'll be with me no matter where I go."

Rebecca tried to put a hand on his shoulder, to comfort him, but he shrugged her away. Rebecca drew back, wounded. Since they were young, he had never turned her away like this. They had always shared each other's pain, easing each other's suffering by their closeness. Now, it was as if he had cut himself off from her.

"Christian…"

"She'll kill you." Christian stood up, facing her, his eyes wide like a madman's. "She'll kill you." He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her close, as though by holding her he could stop her death. "I won't let that happen, Rebecca. I'll protect you."

Rebecca pushed herself out of his arms; this time it was Christian who looked wounded.

"That's enough, Christian," Rebecca said, trying to calm him down. "She won't kill me. She wouldn't dare."

"She killed Joseph Buquet." Christian said. "And all he did was mock her."

Christian's fear was infectious. "Then we escape from her," Rebecca shook her head. "We don't have to stay here, Christian," she said, her voice calm despite the dread she felt. "We could leave. Leave Paris. Leave France, if we must. I have a villa in Italy where we…"

"She'd follow us," Christian said sharply. "She'd never let us rest, never let us be at peace. If something doesn't stop her tonight, nothing ever will."

Rebecca stared. When had the youthful boy of her dreams turned into such a hardened man, full of bitterness and pain? Was this the Phantom's poison, infecting him, or was it something more?

"Something, Christian?"

"Or someone." The man moved away. Rebecca saw the glint of a dagger in his hand, and gasped. Christian turned, and the dagger was gone. _Rebecca, it was not real_.

Was it? Had it been an illusion? Or was Christian really carrying a knife?

"What's wrong?" He asked, wary, casting his eyes about, as though looking for the Phantom.

But Rebecca shook her head at Christian. "You're letting your fear get the best of you, Christian Daae," she said, forcing ice into her words. "Outside the Opera House, she cannot harm you. She cannot even find you."

Christian paused, reason striving to push through his madness. His Angel of Music would never leave the Opera House, would she? No, of course she wouldn't - she was afraid of her face. She was ashamed of herself. She would not venture out into the light of day. She lived in the catacombs. She was a monster. She would not follow him if he ran.

But he would not run. He would make his stand and fight for the woman he loved.

Rebecca saw a glint in Christian's eyes she couldn't ignore. And she was afraid. She reached out to Christian, putting a hand on his arm. "Christian?" He didn't turn to look at her - he only stared out the window, at the deepening darkness that heralded the sunset.

"It ends tonight," He said, glowering at the shadows, his hands clenching into fists. "One way or another."

**

* * *

A/N:** Getting' a little creepy now, isn't it? 


	4. Rose and Thorn

**Disclaimer**: The PHA---N-tom of the opera ain't mine… which makes me sad.

**A/N**: I apologise for the wait. My phan-muse was asleep at the wheel over New Year's.

* * *

Rebecca found Meg stretching, preparing to go through her dance steps. She waved her over, urgently. The two girls retreated into the shadows, out of earshot of the rest of the dancers and stagehands. 

"I found her," Meg whispered hurriedly. "But she was… she was too angry to speak to me. She told me to leave."

"Did she threaten you?" Rebecca asked, concerned.

Meg shook her head, but her hand fluttered towards her ear; she turned the gesture to a movement which smoothed down her hair. "No. She didn't." Meg asked breathlessly, anxiously, "Did you find him? Christian?"

"I found him," the countess said, her eyes sad, "But he is no longer the boy I once knew." She looked up at Meg's gentle expectant face. "I think he means to kill her."

Meg went pale. "Christian wouldn't do that. I know him."

"He and I grew up together," Rebecca reminded the ballerina, "But now, Christian is… gone. Replaced by something… sinister. Something dark. I don't know him anymore."

Meg bit her lip, but said nothing.

"What do we do now?"

Meg shook her head. "I don't know. I-I don't know." She looked over to the rest of the dance troupe were warming up, surreptitiously watching them. "I have to get back. We have to rehearse."

"Rehearse?"

Meg nodded. "The Phantom's new opera. We are to perform it at the end of the month." Meg swallowed. "She sent a note demand… _requesting_ it."

Rebecca nodded. "Break a leg," she whispered, knowing the theatre tradition not to wish anyone 'good luck'. Meg hurried back to her place, trying not to show her fear. The countess stood in the wings, looking about the theatre, her mind awhirl with thoughts and theories.

Foremost in her thoughts was Christian. He could not - would not! - murder anyone.

Her eyes settled on the gilded railing of Box Five. The curtain had been drawn, as though concealing an occupant. But despite the fact that all the boxes' curtains were similarly closed, the thought of someone being concealed within persisted in Rebecca's mind.

The countess turned and hurried through the back of the stage, heading outside, into the cold and the wind of the tail end of winter. She had to find Christian. She had to talk sense into him. She had to bring him back. She had failed when she had talked to him in the chapel, but surely he would see sense in the light of day. The shadows were poisonous to Christian - he saw the night as the time that the Phantom - his Angel of Music no longer - ruled. Rebecca would save Christian. She had to.

Had she looked up, she would have seen a bone-white mask in the shadows, watching her departure.

* * *

Christian left the horse at the gates. It stamped its hooves and snorted smoke in the chill winter air, but did not stir. It was a good beast, a loyal animal. It would not leave without him. 

Christian did not plan to stay long. This place held too many sad memories, too many echoes of those who had mourned here, mourned the ones they loved. There were too many ghosts.

But what were ghosts, but memories which refused to die?

Christian adjusted the collar of his shirt with one hand - gentle snowflakes were landing on his neck like icy kisses, melting into tears that ran cold and harsh down his back. He had no time for the weather. No time at all. He needed to mourn, needed to come here to let the past go, let it die. In his other hand, he held tight to a bouquet of swan-white blooms. A present for his mother.

_Mother, why did you die? Why did you leave me like this? _Christian headed through the graveyard, a bitter taste in his mouth and bitter thoughts on his mind. _You said you'd send an Angel, mother. You lied - she's a monster. A demon. You lied, mother. I loved you, and you lied to me. With your dying breath, you _lied_ to me_.

Under the innocent white of the roses, a sharp thorn pressed into Christian's palm, waiting expectantly for the taste of blood. Christian felt it, and did not resent it. Rather, he soothed it. _Soon, soon_.

Through rows of stone angels, their faces demurely lowered, Christian headed for the Daae tomb. Georgina Daae had not been rich enough to support herself as well as her illegitimate child, but she did have rich enough admirers who gladly paid for her tomb. Paid for her son to disappear. Paid for her belongings, her violin, her music.

_Bastards_, Christian thought, his lip curling, _Those hypocritical bastards_.

Left all alone in the world, not even a sou to his name, he'd grown up in the opera. Where only the unwanted and the dregs grew up.

Where the Opera Ghost was waiting, vampire-like, for him.

Christian looked up at the tomb, surprised that he had walked so far through the snow and the cold, surprised that his thoughts had brought him here. Swallowing his pride, he climbed the stairs, and stood at the threshold of the tomb. And then, he traced with his eyes the cross on the doorway, losing himself to his thoughts.

_I don't hate you, mother_, Christian said, his eyes filled with the hurt one sees in a puppy that was kicked out of spite, _I just don't understand. Why did you promise me beauty? Why did you promise me something which has not come to pass? Why is my Angel of Music a monster… a Phantom?_

At the gate, the horse Christian had ridden all the way to the graveyard gave a snort, disturbed from its own silent contemplation by another visitor. The horse calmed at the feel of a woman's hands across its muzzle, and it nickered softly and thankfully at the taste of sugar-cubes. It decided that the woman was a friend of Christian's, and decided to let her pass. The woman did so, following the footsteps that Christian had left, but silent as stars.

Christian looked down at his hands, at the roses that he still held, at the thorn concealed within them. "I miss you," he whispered, "It's so hard without you, mother." He took a breath. "If only you were here. If only you could guide me. I feel…" Betrayed. Confused. Bitter. Torn. Broken. Twisted every way.

Stealthy footsteps crunched through the snow behind him. Christian's eyes snapped open, hardening to steel in less than a moment, his conversation with his mother forgotten. He knelt down, setting down the roses, and readied the thorn in his hand. When she came to him, he would be ready. He would…

"Christian?"

Christian whirled, surprised and caught off-guard. "Rebecca? What are you doing here?"

She looked beautiful. A simple black dress, a red scarf around her throat and a single red rose in her hands. She took his breath away, and melted his fears. She looked at him, pitying, pleading, loving.

"What are you doing here?" Christian asked, putting the thorn away. "Why are you here?"

"I followed you, Christian." She stood in the lightly falling snow like an angel. She came towards him, smiling sadly, then set her rose down on the steps of the tomb, next to Christian's bouquet. The red petals and the white snow together somehow sent shivers down his spine. It looked like a splash of blood…

"You can't let her control you like this, Christian," Rebecca whispered.

"Who? My mother?"

Rebecca looked up at Christian. "Your mother is dead, Christian. You know that." She looked at the tomb. "I'm talking about the Phantom."

Christian felt the thorn, hidden up his sleeve, almost shake with anticipation and hate.

"You have to leave the Opera House, Christian. You have to leave Paris. You have to get her out of your head."

"You don't think I've tried?" Christian put his hands on Rebecca's shoulders and looked into her eyes. "She's the voice inside my head, Bec. She's the very air I breathe. I can't escape her."

"Yes, you can," Rebecca said softly. She kissed Christian, as gentle as a snowflake. "You are not her puppet, Christian. You are a free man. She taught you to sing; yes, you should be grateful for that. But just because she taught you to sing does not mean she owns your soul."

Christian stared at Rebecca. "You can't possibly understand…"

"You said you loved her, Christian. And I've heard it said that she loves you. But what kind of love is this, where you drift in hate and fear and uncertainty every day of your life?" There were tears in her eyes now. "I love you, Christian. And I don't want to see you in pain anymore. Please."

Christian stared at the woman in his arms, and felt the madness slowly peeling away. _This is your Angel, Christian_, a gentle voice seemed to whisper in his mind. _This is your Angel of Music_. Not a power-mad monster who used fear and death to control those who 'belonged' to her, but a delicate, kind, caring and - above all things - truthfully loving woman who would risk death itself to save him. The thorn hidden in his sleeve disgusted him now; what kind of a man was he?

Christian took Rebecca's hands in his own, and kissed them both. Then he kissed her on the pair of rose petals that were her lips. "Oh, Rebecca…"

"Christian…"

They stood there in the snow, together, keeping each other warm with their embrace and their love, whispering promises and plans and dreams and hopes and memories.

"We'll leave tonight," Christian whispered, "No more Phantom. Just you and me, Rebecca. Free at last, together forever." He looked up, brushing the snow from her hair. She was crying and smiling and laughing and sobbing all at once.

Yes, this was love. A warm and shining light. Love was not a shadow of death and doubt.

The shadow that stood on the roof of Georgina's tomb, staring with wide eyes through the bone-white mask.

Rebecca saw something in his eyes which frightened her. "Christian? What is it?"

Christian stared defiantly up at the Phantom, his arms still around Rebecca. "I want nothing more to do with you, monster. Go back to your crypt."

The Phantom laughed, bitter and hollow. "Oh, you brush me aside so easily." Rebecca turned; the Phantom addressed her. "How long will it be, Countess, until he casts _you_ aside so callously?" The eyes under the mask were as hard and cold as ice. "You do not throw aside love without repercussions, Christian, my love and my protégé."

"I am your student no longer." Christian spat. "I'm old enough now to see that the darkness you kept me in was nothing more than a cage."

The wind made it seem like the Phantom was flying as she leapt down from the roof and started walking towards Christian. "A cage, was it?" She sounded like she was choking. "After all… I did for you… you feel caged?"

Christian pushed Rebecca aside, out of harm's way. "Enough of this. What do you want?"

"I want you, Christian," the Phantom wailed. "I want you to love me and stay with me forever." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You don't know what it's like in the dark, in the cage, all alone…"

"Yes I do," Christian hissed. "Because you kept me there!"

"CHRISTIAN, NO!"

Christian stared. The Phantom gave a shriek and leapt back. Blood stained her mask like falling rose petals; blood leeched into the snow, spreading from red to pale pink.

Christian's thorn, meant for the Phantom, had buried itself up to the hilt in Rebecca's flesh.

"NO!"

"You stupid girl!" The Phantom screamed. "What have you done?"

Rebecca looked up at Christian. "No… no more blood… no death… just leave… don't hurt her…" She fell into a faint, her lifeblood dripping out of her. Red into the white. Christian caught her, before she fell.

The Phantom stared at the dying Countess. "You have to get her back to the Opera House, Christian, or she will die." She took off her cloak and offered it to him. "Wrap her in this, quickly!"

Christian drew back his hand and slapped the Phantom's gift aside. With a face contorted with rage, he picked Rebecca up in his arms and ran to his waiting horse. He would ride fast and hard.

The blade was still in her stomach. Christian gingerly removed it. This thorn had been meant for the Phantom's heart! Instead, he'd destroyed the rose, the beautiful Rebecca… There wasn't much time. He held Rebecca close to him and gave the horse the reins, spurring it on through the snow.

Christian looked back once. He saw only the snow, the carved angels… and his Angel standing on the fence, like one of those statues over the graves; the guardians of the dead. Watching. Watching…

The Phantom watched, balanced steadily on the stone walls, as the lovers rode away. She stood and watched, as wind whipped up snow and made her cloak billow. The cold was biting; her breath came in short puffs of steam. She watched as her student and the countess rode off together. Together.

Softly, so softly the wind almost obliterated the sound, the Phantom began to weep.


	5. Bedside Manner

**Disclaimer**: POTO owned by ALW. Movie rocked my socks, musical rocked them even more.

**A/N**: This one took me a while - lots of dialogue, which isn't usually my style. Oh well, hope you like.

* * *

Rebecca slowly opened her eyes. The room was cold and colourless, aside from a vase of roses beside her bed. Roses. Red on white. Like blood in the snow. 

Rebecca closed her eyes again as the memories came flooding back. Christian's blade, the Phantom's screech, Rebecca's own blood… She pressed a hand gently to her stomach, and felt revealed bandages, tightly wound around her. The wound was packed with cotton, herbs and gauze, stitched tight and with precision.

"You are lucky," a voice said gently, "Had Christian brought you back a few moments later you would have bled to death." Rebecca opened her eyes once more. The voice came from the vase of roses. Confused, Rebecca cast her eyes about the room.

A bone-white mask and a midnight shadow watched her.

"Please," the roses said, "Do not be afraid."

Rebecca tried to calm her heart. The roses spoke to her? "How are you doing that?" She asked the Phantom.

The Phantom shrugged. "Why don't you ask them?" She nodded at the roses, smiling faintly.

Realisation dawned on the Countess. "You're a ventriloquist."

The Phantom nodded again, the smile gone from her face. "The roses were from him." She procured something from the folds of her cloak. A white rose. "And this is from me." She held the rose out to Rebecca. "An apology."

"Why should you apologise?" Rebecca asked. "Christian was going to kill you."

The Phantom said nothing, but continued to hold the rose out. Eventually, Rebecca took it from her. It smelled of vanilla and musk. "Thankyou," the countess whispered.

The Phantom didn't acknowledge the thanks. "You're still very weak, even after two night's rest," She observed, leaning against the wall once more. "But you are getting better. The blade missed your vital organs, which is fortunate. Those fool 'surgeons' didn't know what they were doing, and if you had a worse wound their fumbling attempts at healing would have sealed your fate." A sneer curled her beautiful lips. "Yet they still take the credit for your swift recovery."

"You did this?" Rebecca stared, pressing a hand to her stomach. "You saved my life? Why?"

The eyes of the Phantom were blank and unreadable. "Because you saved mine."

There was a silence in the room for a moment. Both women watched each other, unsure of what to say or how to say it. Eventually, Rebecca set the rose down and pushed herself gently upright.

"You're not going to call for help?" The Phantom asked, wryly raising an eyebrow.

Rebecca shook her head. "No."

The Phantom looked amused for a moment. "And why not?"

"Because then Christian would come running, and say that you were attacking me." The pain in her stomach was just the stitches. There did not seem to be any deep internal damage. She felt dizzy from the lack of blood, but that would end soon enough. After a good meal, perhaps.

"Just as I did at the graveyard?" The Phantom asked, coldly. Rebecca looked sharply at her, and the Phantom shrugged in return. "How else was Christian to explain the pair of you, covered in blood, coming back from the graveyard? You two went there to pay your respects, and I went there with a sword to kill you and take him prisoner. At least," the Phantom added bitterly, wiping dust off the windowsill with a gloved finger and examining it disdainfully, "That is what he has told everyone."

"He lied." Rebecca said, horrified.

"Yes," The Phantom said, feigning disinterest. She wiped her finger on the curtain.

Rebecca looked at the roses by her bed. "What has happened to him?" She whispered, not expecting an answer.

The Phantom sat down opposite Rebecca. "It seems I have driven him mad." She paused a moment. "Pity." Ice-blue eyes turned to the countess. "You knew him from childhood."

"Yes." Rebecca closed her eyes and surrendered to the memory. "One day, we went down to the sea. I was wearing a new red scarf. The wind came up, suddenly, and it flew from me, and was stolen into the waves. I sat down and started to cry. But Christian… he dove right into the freezing surf and swam after it. He came back, dripping wet and proud, and returned my scarf back to me." Rebecca opened her eyes. "Didn't our nursemaids but scold us for that!" She laughed briefly, then winced.

"Don't aggravate your wound, Countess," the Phantom said. She tilted her head. "He brought you these roses out of guilt, I think. That, or remorse."

"I wasn't about to let him kill you."

The Phantom looked penetratingly at Rebecca. "For his sake, your sake, or mine?"

"For all our sakes," Rebecca returned the gaze.

The Phantom sat back in the chair and stared at the ceiling, feigning boredom. Rebecca looked at the ivory-white rose the Phantom had brought her.

"Do you still love him?"

The Phantom looked back at the Countess. "How could I not?" She said, a touch of wistfulness in her voice.

"He tried to kill you."

"Touché, Countess," The roses whispered. The Phantom's lips didn't even move.

Rebecca frowned, and the Phantom smirked slightly. "And what about you? Do you still love him?"

"How could I not?" Rebecca said, causing the Phantom's eyes to narrow. "I know the boy I knew is still there. Somewhere inside Christian. I just need to find him."

"A dagger might help," The Phantom pointed out, steepling her gloved hands.

"That's not funny," Rebecca snapped.

"It wasn't meant to be," The Phantom shrugged, her voice icy.

Rebecca and the Phantom faced off once more. The air in the room was laced with veiled hostility.

"You could blame me, I suppose," the Phantom said, rising to her feet and pacing slowly. "After all, if I hadn't taken Christian under my wing, he would not be this way."

"If you had not tried to control him, he would not be mad." Rebecca countered.

The Phantom did not pause in her pacing. "In order to sing, one must have control over one's voice. That is what voice… what music is about. Control."

"It may be what singing is about, _mademoiselle_," the Countess said coldly, "But that is not what love is."

"Indeed?" The Phantom spared Rebecca a brief snarl. She moved around the room as though caged.

"If it was love you sought," Rebecca continued, "You have destroyed it. You covered him in darkness and told him he was worth nothing without you. And he believed you. Instead of freedom, you gave him madness. You controlled him, until he himself sought to throw off your chains. He himself lost control because you took it from him. If that is love, then I am a fool, and deserve him not."

The Phantom stopped her pacing, and turned to Rebecca with cold eyes. "If you seek to insult me, Countess, be plain. Insults do not call for flowery language."

Rebecca looked calmly back at the masked woman. "Your so-called 'love' poisoned his mind."

The Phantom snorted in derision. "And I suppose your words are to convince me of the errors of my ways, Countess? Then I will beg for forgiveness from the pair of you, and you will run off to your villa in Italy and leave me in misery and loneliness for the rest of my life?" There was pain in her face as she said this. The Countess felt some stab of pity.

"I know you love him," The Countess said softly, "In your own fashion. But… Christian is…"

"Mad." The Phantom looked away. "I know. And I made him so." She sighed heavily. "I just wanted… someone… anyone… to share my pain. To understand the loneliness, the fear… the darkness…"

"Phantom," Rebecca said gently, "Wouldn't it have been better to come into the sunlight instead? To leave the darkness behind?"

"You don't know me… my life… anything." The Phantom whispered. "I couldn't… and I still can't."

"But you saved my life." Rebecca said, picking up the white rose, noting it had been de-thorned. "And you have a deep attachment to Christian… though whether I'd call it love is another matter. You may have been born of darkness, Phantom, but you are not dark yourself. You're still human, no matter what you claim or what you do."

The Phantom turned slowly. "What is this?" She said, mockingly, "My rival, trying to convince me of my folly?"

"I don't need to do that," Rebecca said gently.

"Of course you don't. I already know. " The Phantom looked back up at the ceiling, this time looking as though she wished to stop tears from falling. "So this is how it is, then? An angel can love, but her love can never be returned?"

"Not if the angel acts like a possessive demon."

For a moment, the tears in the Phantom's eyes were replaced by rage. Rebecca met those eyes unflinchingly, and it was the Phantom who looked away first.

"I can't stop loving him, you know." She whispered. "Not anymore than you could stop the sun from rising, Countess."

"But you can stop trying to control him. Then his madness will pass."

The Phantom shook her head and rested it in her hand. "No, his madness will not pass. I've done terrible things to make him love me… or to try to make him love me. His madness won't end until I'm dead."

Rebecca set the rose down on her lap and tried to think of something to say. But there was no argument to counter this. It was true. Christian's madness was at such a point… The point of no return.

The Phantom sighed wearily. "I wanted someone to share my pain and pull me out of my dark despair," she whispered, "And all I did was spread my misery and trap Christian in madness. If I die, I suppose I get what I deserve." She reached into her cloak. "I have a gift for you, Countess de Chagny. I trust you will be well enough to enjoy it." She proffered a small square of paper.

Rebecca took it, and examined it, scarcely believing what she was seeing. "This is…"

"The ticket to my private box." The Phantom affirmed with a nod. "For the opening night of the play." A painful smile played about her lips. "You will be able to see Christian perform well from there."

"I can't take this." Rebecca said. "I can't!"

"Please, Countess," the Phantom said, eyes full of sadness, "Just take it. I will try and repair the damage I have caused… though my sins cannot be undone, I will at least try to make amends." She paused, then added, "Don't let Christian know I was here, please. And say nothing of what I have said or done."

"But Christian…"

"He is yours. I should have seen that from the beginning." The Phantom swept out of the door with a hiss of her cloak, and was gone.

A few moments later, Christian peered into the room, and saw Rebecca awake. The relief on his face was almost endearing. He carried with him a bouquet of blood-red roses, with sprinklings of Baby's Breath.

"Rebecca! Oh, Rebecca, I'm so glad you're alright!"

She smiled at him, though her eyes were wary. "Good evening, Christian. Or is it morning?"

Christian looked guilty, and he quietly closed the door. "Rebecca, I'm so sorry. I never meant for you to be hurt."

"You meant to kill her instead." Rebecca shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. "I can't believe you would even think such a thing!"

Christian set the roses down and knelt by the bed. "I'm so sorry… Can you ever forgive me?"

Rebecca looked at the man she loved. "I don't know, Christian. I don't know."

Christian sighed, and buried his head in his hands. "I don't know what came over me. Some kind of madness… She's… she's everywhere I go… I just felt… trapped, and I thought it was the only thing I could do was to… end it all. I thought that was the only way to be free…"

"You can be free, Christian." Rebecca said, stroking his hair as though he were a child. "But you don't need to use a knife gain your freedom.  
"You don't know what she's like!" His eyes were wild, pleading. "She won't leave me! She's… she's obsessed! She's insane!"

Rebecca's eyes were cool and calm. "Christian, stop behaving like this. Whatever happened to the boy I knew?"

Christian hung his head again. "I'm such a fool."

Rebecca stroked his hair again. "I love you, Christian, for all your faults. But you can't keep acting like this. This madness will consume you. Let it go. Let her go."

Christian sighed, then kissed Rebecca's hand. "I will try, Rebecca. For your sake, and for mine. I just… I need you, by my side. To help me. To guard me and to guide me." His eyes grew serious, and for a moment, Rebecca saw the little boy who dived into the stormy sea for the red scarf. The serious little boy who only wanted to see her smile. He was still there, trapped inside the man who had been tutored by darkness.

He was there. He just needed love - true love - to help him return.

_Say you love me_, he sang.

_Now, and always_, she sang in return.

Hidden under the blankets, the ticket and the white rose rested together over the wound on her stomach.


	6. Opening Night

**Disclaimer**: ALW owns you.

**A/N**: Sorry it took so long!

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The Phantom walked slowly through the candlelight, her eyes aflame with the golden light. She shunned the gilt and mirrored walls and moved instead to the shadows, where the velvet and silk curtains hung. Taking off her gloves, she caressed the fabric with sensitive fingers and let her mind wander.

She was not fond of gambling. She'd seen far too many lives ruined by that so-called 'sport'. No. If anything was going to be won, it was not through luck and chance. It would be through careful calculation and meticulous planning. But over the past few days she had played a game of dice. She'd taken a gamble and risked everything. And for what? And why? She barely understood it herself.

Perhaps it was pity which had moved her. Pity - something she barely understood yet knew so well. Yet, perhaps it was not pity. Maybe it was understanding, a shared suffering of a tormented love. Perhaps it was some kind of honourable rivalry, where both she and Rebecca had to be on equal footing. Or perhaps it was because that the Phantom knew that Christian loved Rebecca more. Or maybe it would be guilt - Christian's blade, after all, had been meant for her, not Rebecca. Perhaps it was tit for tat - Rebecca had saved her life, so the Phantom saved hers. Whatever the case, she'd bandaged the Countess' wounds and offered her both an apology and a place to watch Christian perform. She'd taken a gamble. An immense one.

The Phantom pulled away from the curtain and replaced her gloves. She walked slowly, each step slow and measured, going nowhere and not caring. She just walked, and with each step she remembered what she had done, but not why.

The Phantom glowered through the bone of her mask. This was a huge risk. One brief moment of pity - or whatever it was - and now the game was up in the air. A huge gamble. Perhaps she should not go ahead with her plan. It would not do fitting to save the Countess' life only to end it. Even she, the Phantom of the Opera, was not that sadistic. But then… Christian. Would he ever come to understand? The Phantom buried her head in her hands for a moment. He wouldn't understand. He saw only the Ghost now, not the Angel of Music. The music of the night was horrible and unwanted. The Phantom sighed. She should stop this. She could stop this.

No. There was no going back now.

The Phantom lifted her head, and found herself staring into her reflection. Behind her was her shrine, her collection of drawings and music and things which reminded her of Christian. Before her was the masked face of her greatest enemy.

Behind her were her dreams. Before her was her reality. And how bitter and brutal it was. She could not even meet her own eyes.

The Phantom turned away, feeling something stirring in the pit of her stomach. Dread? Fear? Disgust? Resignation? Or all of this and more?

There, on the organ, was the score to the latest performance. The original copy, of course - she would not have given her precious originals to the bumbling fools who owned her opera house. With barely a thought, the Phantom had crossed to the instrument and the sheet music, and was stroking gloved fingers along the ivory keys. She sat down and gently began to play. The music swelled and filled the cave. The gentle love sonata.

The suspicion was growing in her mind that perhaps she had saved Rebecca because she knew that when the play was over, there would be only one woman standing. Everything that had occurred had all led up to this. When the curtain fell the outcome would be decided, not before.

Everything would be over then. The end of the play would be the end of all things.

The Phantom looked back over her shoulder. In the mirror, she looked like some fiend. Perhaps she was. Heaven knew she was a monster. But would a monster show pity? Would a monster save someone's life? Would a monster be able to play and sing and love as she did?

She'd planned everything. Everything except Christian's desire to be free. She hadn't known he hated her so much. How swiftly did his feelings change… how cruelly had he hurt her… Perhaps there could be some way to end this without suffering. Perhaps she could…

The music died abruptly, the echoes dying feebly in the darkness. No suffering? Hah. Someone would suffer. Someone always suffers. She would go ahead with her plans.

The Phantom of the Opera does not compromise. There could be no going back.

Her smile was small at first, but widened slowly to a predatory smirk. What was life without an element of risk? While certainty would have been preferable, this game may yet play in her favour.

She stood up and swept past. The candles, startled by the sudden movement, flickered and shrank, only to grow large again in the Phantom's passing.

There was only one more month of rehearsals. The Phantom planned to be there for all of them. She wanted everything to be perfect.

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Christian breathed heavy behind the red curtains. This was the night. Months had gone by, and now it was opening night. He'd learned his lines, his songs, his positions and his dances with the rest of the cast, and now, tonight… Tonight, the performance. Opening night. The only night. The end of it all.

Rebecca would be watching from somewhere in the audience. She'd promised. And because of that, Christian was afraid.

All the months of rehearsals, he'd known that something was amiss. First of all, the play that Phantom had demanded was… barbaric. Set in Ancient Egypt, it told of a princess who demanded a slave boy to be her husband. A slave boy who was in love with a slave girl. As the play progressed, the Egyptian princess went mad with love, and ordered the slave girl killed so the boy would have to be hers. The two slaves would discover this plot, and die together.

Christian had no doubt that the Phantom intended for art to mirror life.

In addition to this, he had not felt the Phantom's eyes on him for any of the rehearsals. Though there had been incidents where her presence had been felt - such as El Cobalto's pompous disagreements silenced by the piano suddenly thundering out the chords to the opening number - it was as though the Phantom was gone.

That fact alone was enough to make Christian queasy. The Phantom always, _always_ attended rehearsals. She loved to watch Christian perform, whether merely dancing or to listen to his voice. And Christian could always tell when she was there. And if she had chosen not to attend rehearsals… what could that possibly be a sign of?

Rebecca was surely in danger. That was why he had taken these steps.

"Make sure you don't miss," he reminded the policeman beside him. "If you don't kill her now, you'll never get another chance."

The man nodded, not looking at Christian. His eyes scanned the rafters, the rigging, the set, and his gun was held loosely but in readiness in both hands. Out in the audience, as well as around other strategic positions backstage, other gendarmes waited likewise. They'd been ordered - not just by Christian, but by the Opera's managers - to shoot to kill, and then once more.

"Christian," Meg Giry snapped, looking pale under her stage-paint, "This is foolishness! You mean to kill her?"

"She tried to kill Rebecca, remember?" He hissed back as the audience outside shushed themselves. The lie didn't taste so bitter after months of repeating it. Meg shrank back from him, acquiescing, but there was rebellious anger in her eyes.

Christian took a breath and adjusted his costume one last time as the entr'acte started to swell, and the curtains brushed wide. Taking a breath, Christian stared at the open space, settling himself into the role he was about to play.

The stage was his.

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Rebecca stared at the chair. The chair was no different from all the others in the various boxes, but this one had a reputation that few within the theatre - or without, for that matter - could ignore.

This was box number five - the Phantom's box.

Rebecca looked down over the railing of the box, unable to keep from being impressed. The Phantom had a perfect view from up here, of everything - the audience, the orchestra pit, the stage itself. She'd chosen well. Rebecca removed her gloves thoughtfully. The Phantom had seen fit to bestow this perfect seat to Rebecca. The Phantom given her the ticket, saying she meant to repair the damage her sins had wrought, saying she wanted to make things right.

Rebecca looked at the plush red chair curiously. On a table next to it was a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice, a small dish of sweetmeats, and a small letter, sealed with a death's-head in wax. One of the Phantom's notes. She recognised the seal. Curious. She'd obviously gone to no expense to see that Rebecca was comfortable. Was she still feeling guilty for her role in Christian's attack?

Rebecca's hand instinctively went to her stomach, where the old wound from the graveyard those long winter months ago was now nothing more than a thin white line. Rebecca pushed the thoughts aside as she surveyed the audience.

Christian had called the police, demanding armed guards on every floor, standing guard at every window and door, backstage and in the audience both. He was clearly expecting the Phantom to show up. And he did not want to see her live.

_What has happened to my Christian?_ The countess wondered. _I know he wants to be free, but surely violence and death will not solve this. When did the boy I loved turn into this man I fear?_ She was glad she had not told him where she would be sitting; she'd told him she'd be watching, but not from where. No need for him to worry if her life was in danger should she sit in Box Five. No need for him to wonder where she had gotten the ticket from, months before the show was even ready to begin.

The audience shushed themselves, and Rebecca quietened her thoughts. Gingerly, she seated herself in that plush red chair, and opened the letter. It was a simple enough message, but Rebecca frowned in concern. Was it her imagination, or did she hear the Phantom's voice, mocking in barely disguised amusement?

"_Enjoy the show, Countess. O.G._"

Rebecca looked up as the curtains opened, the entr'acte swelling around her, her heart in her throat. The letter slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. The death's-head on the envelope seemed to be grinning.


End file.
